


Warm Spirits Glow

by imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, F/F, F/M, Found Family, M/M, Mistletoe shenanigans, The Overly Cheesy Hallmark Holiday Special You've Been Waiting For
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: “Seiros Day isn’t for, like, another two moons!” Lysithea scoffs. “Why is Seiros Day stuff out already? I mean, Seiros Day cakes? Really?!”Annette, who had been browsing the Seiros day cakes just moments ago, crosses her arms in a huff.“What’s wrong with a little festive spirit?”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 47
Kudos: 210





	1. Two Moons Away

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you like really, really cheesy hallmark holiday movies

“Seiros Day isn’t for, like, another two moons!” Lysithea scoffs. “Why is Seiros Day stuff out already? I mean, Seiros Day cakes?  _ Really?!” _

Annette, who had been browsing the Seiros day cakes just moments ago, crosses her arms in a huff.

“What’s wrong with a little festive spirit?”

“There’s nothing wrong with  _ festive spirit!” _ Lysithea says, “The problem is it’s nowhere near Seiros day!”

“But it’s fun!”

“It’s tacky.”

Annette picks up a rolled cake. The frosting has been enchanted to sparkle like it’s covered in golden glitter. Felix, who isn’t invested in this conflict at all, silently agrees with Lysithea.

“What do you think, Felix?” Annette asks. Her and Lysithea both turn to him expectantly; Annette with a cake in her hands, and Lysithea with a carton of cinnamon rolls for her so-called  _ breakfast. _

He considers his options. If he tells the truth he’ll disappoint Annette, who definitely still thinks he’s evil on some level. If he lies he’ll disappoint them both because he’s a terrible liar. If he stays neutral they might stop arguing over fucking  _ cake _ and realize how inconsequential this entire discussion is.

“I don’t care.” Nailed it.

“See? This is stupid and immature,” Lysithea says.

“Felix!” Annette sighs, “How could you do this?”

He did not nail it.

“It doesn’t matter. Just get the stupid cake. I don’t know why this is a big deal, neither of you are even paying for it.”

“Won’t your dad won’t get mad for spending money on junk food?” Annette asks.

Felix smiles conspiratorially. “He only knows he’s buying groceries for Dimitri, and Dimitri eats like a horse. We could buy out the bakery section and he wouldn’t look twice.”

Annette gets a devilish look in her eye that Felix finds  _ very _ endearing. “I bet  _ Dimitri _ would eat a Seiros day cake with me!” she says to Lysithea, who rolls her eyes.

“Do whatever childish thing you want,” she says in her pompous way that he also finds very endearing, “just don’t involve me.”

Annette dumps two cakes into their very full shopping cart.

“Thanks, I will!”

* * *

Felix, who is mean and evil and an all-around terrible human being, has chosen today to be his difficult day. This  _ hour _ to be his difficult hour. He’s awful and terrible and Annette doesn’t know why she’s ever been nice to him.

“Feliiiix!” she doesn’t whine as she struggles under the weight of four canvas totes filled with food, “help meeeee!”

“Don’t grab so much stuff if you can’t carry it,” Felix replies rudely.

“He’s right, you know,” says Lysithea, who’s carrying one (1) gallon of milk, “you should know your limits and respect them.”

“I thought you were my friends!” she laments. Truly, she’s been cursed. Why did she agree to be put on grocery rotation and not, like, dusting duty?!

You see, their enormous house has a rotating chore list, including things like kitchen duty and vacuuming. Felix and Lysithea always have grocery duty, since Felix’s father buys and Lysithea needs to watch her diet so she doesn’t trigger a flare up, and one third person always goes with. Annette thought it would be easy. Annette thought Felix would do most of the heavy lifting.

Annette thought wrong.

“Don’t grab so much next time,” Felix says, also rudely. He’s carrying a lot more than Annette but she’s still mad. He opens the door with his fucking foot, like an evil madman, and leads the way to their communal kitchen that manages to support 24 adults through magic or whatever. Their bags of groceries are laid over the counters and onto the floor and the three of them get to work organizing their bounty.

The groceries have been sorted by location when Annette’s second favorite blonde comes to investigate.

“Oh, Dimitri!” Annette nearly bounces when she greets him, “I got us cake to share!”

Dimitri stares at her. “Wh-what? That’s very kind, Annette, but why?”

Annette ignores Felix’s scoff.

“I just thought you’d enjoy it!” She explains. She grabs one of the cakes — the one enchanted to sparkle with white glitter — and offers it to Dimitri. “The store had their Seiros Day displays out and they just looked so tasty!”

Annette hadn’t considered this might be weird. Her and Dimitri aren’t close like he and Mercedes are. A blush creeps up her cheeks as she becomes very aware of this.

“Y-you can say no!” she squeaks.

“Oh! No! I-I mean yes!” Dimitri throws his hands up in front of him, his single eye widened in surprise. “My apologies, Annette, I just would have expected you to share something like this with Mercedes.”

Annette gets a great idea.

“We can share with Mercedes, too!”

She watches Dimitri’s blush take over his face with the most innocent smile she can muster, and she waits. For a moment the only sounds in the kitchen are Felix and Lysithea’s shuffling around. Once he’s satisfyingly steamed he finally responds.

“That-that would be lovely!” He says, touched with an uncomfortable laugh. He really has a terrible poker face.

“Yay!” She sets the cake down with the other one and picks up some cans of whatever to put away. “I’ll go get her when I’m done here.”

“Yes, okay, when you’re done here,” Dimitri sighs. He moves to help but Felix swats his hand away and he writes it off as a lost battle, standing near Annette instead. “They already have Seiros Day displays out?” He asks.

Lysithea rolls her eyes. “Yeah! It’s still two moons away! What are they thinking?!”

Dimitri pauses to think. “They’re probably thinking — ”

“The question was rhetorical,” Felix snaps. Dimitri stops answering.

“Of course,” he says with a nervous laugh. Dimitri awkwardly rests his hands on the front of his thighs and looks around as nonchalant as a guy like him can. “So, ah, what are everyone’s plans for Seiros Day, anyway?”

_ “It’s two moons away!” _ Lysithea growls through her teeth, but her words are drowned out completely by the newest edition to the kitchen.

“Seiros Day?” Edelgard asks with a single eyebrow raised as she strides in the room. “Why in the world are we talking about  _ Seiros Day?” _

“Oh! Annette bought a Seiros Day cake to share with myself and Mercedes,” Dimitri explains.

“What? Seiros day isn’t for another two moons.”

“That’s what I keep saying!” Lysithea all but yells. Edelgard nods understandingly.

“You should keep saying it,” Edelgard says. 

“What’s so wrong with getting in the festive spirit a little early?” Dimitri asks. Oh no, he’s pouting.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Edelgard snaps, “you knew the answer to that question when you asked it. You know how I feel about the church.”

“It’s not about the church!” Dimitri pleads, “it’s about spending time with your friends! And family! And eating good food! And — ”

“I don’t need a church holiday for that,” Edelgard says.

“But what’s wrong with an excuse?” Annette asks against her better judgement.

Edelgard turns her appraising gaze to Annette. She blushes and hurries to put the last of the groceries away. Dimitri’s stepsister has a way of seeing into her  _ soul _ that makes her feel stripped bare and terrified.

“If you need an excuse to spend time with people you care about then you may want to reevaluate your priorities,” she says. A chill runs down Annette’s spine. As Edelgard turns to leave, her piece said, she gives a curt nod to Dedue and Ashe who are entering just now.

“What do  _ you _ guys have planned for Seiros Day?” Annette asks as soon as Edelgard is out of the room. Ashe looks at her a bit baffled.

“But that’s not for — ”

“I  _ know!” _ Annette sighs. Lysithea snorts in the background. “I don’t care!”

Ashe looks up at Dedue, who looks down at him. “I don’t have any plans yet, do you?” Ashe asks.

“I do not,” Dedue responds. He looks to Dimitri. “Do you?”

Dimitri shakes his head no.

Annette gasps. Everyone looks at her. “We could have a  _ party!” _

“You want to start planning a party two moons out?” Ashe asks hesitantly. Annette opens her mouth to respond but she’s cut off by yet another new voice.

“Did somebody say planning a party?” Ferdinand’s voice rings through the doorway and he strides in with Claude and Hilda right behind, who look nothing less than devious. “I would love to be of service! What’s the occasion?”

“Seiros Day, apparently,” Felix grumbles. Ferdinand lights up immediately.

“I  _ adore _ Seiros Day!” he declares, “Two moons is the perfect amount of time to plan a grand party worthy of such an event.”

Felix and Lysithea share a look. Annette stifles a giggle.

* * *

This is asinine.

Felix does his best to tune out Ferdinand von Aegir’s party planning nonsense in the sizzle of meat on the stovetop, but when phrases like “ice castle” and “holiday market” fall out of his mouth it’s difficult to ignore. Every extravagant suggestion grates on his nerves. He stands in solidarity with Lysithea, backs to the planning party, exchanging irritated glances with each pass of ingredients. 

Felix can’t say he’s  _ never _ been one for the holidays; he liked them fine as a child when Glenn still lived at home, but as the years passed and the house grew emptier, both of people and of emotion, he found himself resenting them. He had hoped, naively, that he could just ignore the season altogether after he moved out of his family home and into his college dorms, but that proved positively disastrous his first Seiros Day away from home.

Felix nearly crushes his bottle of chili powder when he hears the voice of Sir Disastrous, himself.

“What’s everyone doing in the kitchen?” Sylvain asks as he steps into the increasingly crowded room; it may be built to accommodate 24 adults, but not at the same time. “Is this a welcoming party? Were you all that excited to hear about my date?”

“We’re discussing the party we’ll be throwing for Seiros Day!” Ferdinand answers enthusiastically.

There’s a pause, and then, “Ah.”

Felix wonders if Sylvain is also remembering Seiros Day three years ago. He knows he’s not. He scowls, confident Lysithea is the only person in the room who can see. 

Things have never been the same between them since Sylvain went home to see his family over the break during Felix’s freshman year, resulting in a screaming match over the phone that was never resolved. The two never spoke of it. All Felix wanted to do was call his fucking boyfriend, wish him a happy holiday like a thoughtful person, and all he got in return were weird fucking accusations and a fresh, single lifestyle. They pretend it never happened, the fight or the relationship, but sometimes memories come up and Felix goes icy while Sylvain seems unaffected.

Lysithea rests a hand on his arm and it brings him out of his bitter memories. Bless her, honestly.

“He’s staring at you with the most pathetic look I’ve ever seen,” she murmurs to him. The leap in his gut tells him he didn’t need to know that.

“Maybe this is the year he’ll fucking apologize,” Felix murmurs back.

“A party sounds fuckin’  _ sick!” _ Sylvain yells.

“Nevermind,” Felix sighs. Lysithea snorts and claps him on the back.

He doesn’t know why he’s holding out hope, anyway. Sylvain moved on a long time ago.

“Okay, okay, gift exchange! Price limit! Go!” Sylvain’s booming voice echoes in the kitchen.

“Not all of us have unlimited money, Sylvain,” Lysithea says pointedly. Felix doesn’t risk checking, but he knows in his ice cold heart that she’s staring down her nose at him, and that gives him some satisfaction.

“That’s not — ”

“In any case, this discussion is exhausting. I will be in my room studying, like an  _ adult,  _ if anyone needs me.” He actually looks at Lysithea this time and raises an eyebrow. She shakes her head no, silently telling him no, she doesn’t need help, and she leaves to one of the only ground floor bedrooms in the building. His only ally gone, he focuses on the meat sizzling in front of him and tunes out any unnecessarily loud voices and overly boisterous laughter.

“What about you, Felix?” 

Felix does not  _ startle,  _ he just didn’t hear Sylvain walk through the kitchen to stand next to him. He doesn’t bother looking up.

_ “What?” _ he snaps.

“For Seiros Day? Are you going home? Or will you be at the party?” Sylvain asks so easily. It pisses Felix off.

“Why the  _ fuck  _ would I go home?”

“Dunno.” He’s not looking. He’s not looking. He’s not looking. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Something’s weird. His voice is weird. Felix looks up at him, but whatever genuine feeling had touched his words a moment ago have been hidden once again with an easy laugh to Annette’s jokes. 

* * *

At some point the planning moved from the incredibly crowded kitchen into the equally as crowded but much more comfortable living room. The Party Planning Panel, now consisting of Ferdinand, Lorenz, Dorothea, Hilda, Annette, Sylvain, Ashe, Dedue, a very bewildered Petra, and the man of the hour, roguishly handsome tactical mastermind, Claude von Riegan.

“I simply believe,” Lorenz says in equal parts handsome and haughty, “that we should consider a caterer! I don’t see why we should have to cook so much food, it’ll make quite the mess.”

“A cook for the evening is a much better option,” Ferdinand argues, “it offers much more flexibility!”

Ah, what a couple of pricks.

“Guys, guys! I’m happy to cook!” Annette says. The room looks at her in silence while the echo of the last kitchen fire plays in their minds and proceeds as if nothing happened.

“So this is a feast?” Petra asks.

“Kind of!” Dorothea explains, “it’s normal to have a big dinner with the people you love on Seiros Day.”

Ferdinand and Lorenz continue their pissing contest. Hilda is typing frantically on her phone, coming up with one of her own nefarious schemes most likely. Petra asks more questions. Ashe and Dedue discuss what to cook, ignoring Ferdinand and Lorenz entirely. Sylvain looks awestruck at Dedue. Annette’s burning herself out trying to stay in multiple conversations at once. And Claude plans his next move.

Goal: Throw a sick party without getting the cops involved. Or anyone’s parents.

Obstacle: Rich assholes with no taste and a control complex.

Plan?

“Hilda!” Claude uses his Loud Voice to cut through the crap. He’s successful. “You look like you have some ideas!”

Hilda gives him a blank stare. She knows what he’s doing. Conveniently, she has the same goal.

“Oh!” She says blandly, “Hilda and her expertise are being called upon, hm? And here I thought these two had it all under control.” She gestures to Ferdinand and Lorenz, who were under the same impression.

“I’m sure they could throw a lovely party all on their own,” Claude says, “but I would hate to put too much on their shoulders. Finals are next moon, after all, and their classes are so hard.”

Hilda hides her smile behind her phone when the two sit up straighter.

“Yes, of course we would appreciate help,” says Lorenz. Ferdinand nods in agreement.

“Then it’s settled!” Claude claps, “Hilda and I will take care of the party planning — “

“Did somebody say party planning?!”

Ah, a variable he failed to account for.

Caspar barrels into the room, a shining ball of light and energy and pandemonium, followed by Linhardt who’s just the opposite. Claude gets the distinct impression Caspar dragged Linhardt into the room by the hand. Linhardt drapes himself against the back of the sofa Claude and Hilda are sitting on and Caspar jumps on the coffee table between them all.

“We should have a massive snowball fight!” he shouts. Linhardt groans.

“Caspar, it hardly snows this far south,” Linhardt says. Caspar looks crestfallen.

“Oh,” he says. The room falls into an awkward silence with Caspar’s disappointment infecting everyone, except possibly Linhardt. Lorenz clears his throat.

“If there is snow, I’m sure we can schedule such an activity,” he says diplomatically. Caspar cheers.

“How did you even know this was for Seiros Day?” Claude asks, amused.

“It’s only two moons away! What else could it be for?” Caspar continues to shout.

“He’s right, you know,” Hilda says. He concedes.

Lorenz shifts uncomfortably. He looks like he desperately wants to ask Caspar to act like a human, not an animal. He’s cute when he looks like that.

“What are the other Seiros Day traditions?” Petra asks before Lorenz can even open his mouth. Caspar, without intervention, does not get off the coffee table.

“Oh, there’s all sorts of things!” Dorothea says excitedly, “there’s holiday markets, holiday plays, cookies and cakes, all sorts of traditional decorations and spells, many people exchange gifts with friends and family…”

“Seiros Day is celebrated with family?”

“Many people celebrate with their family! There’s myths and legends for kids, cartoons, that sort of thing.”

Petra nods thoughtfully. “Will family come here to celebrate?”

Dorothea looks around at everyone else. 

“My folks aren’t F ó dlaners,” Claude says, “they don’t follow the church.”

“Mine, as well,” says Dedue.

“My brother has his own thing,” Hilda says.

“Mine, too, and my dad’s real busy with work,” Caspar says. Linhardt gestures at him to get down from the table. He does.

“My parents will be much too busy,” says Ferdinand. Lorenz agrees.

“Maybe I should invite my siblings!” says Ashe.

“My family sucks,” shrugs Sylvain.

“I suppose I could invite my mom, but she doesn’t have a lot of money to travel,” says Annette.

“So we might have Ashe’s siblings!” declares Claude, “I’ll ask the house chat if anyone else’s family is coming.”

“Felix’s won’t,” Sylvain pipes up. Claude raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“And Dimitri’s and Ingrid’s?”

Sylvain shrugs.

“Ookay,” Claude says, filing that little tidbit away for later. He pulls out his phone and opens the group chat when he sees Hilda has already asked and, interesting, she also tagged Marianne.

He files that little tidbit away for later, as well.


	2. A Moon And A Half Away

“I can’t  _ believe _ nobody told me about this stupid party,” Ingrid says with a scowl.

“Right? It’s rude! They were gonna let Ferdinand and Lorenz waste so much money,” Leonie scoffs.

“That’s all those two are good at, I swear,” Ingrid says.

Ingrid and Leonie stand on a dirty linoleum floor between two shelves in the green section, which is the section of this thrift store dedicated to green things. Their shopping cart is already carrying knick knacks and novelty glassware from the red and blue sections as well as some clothing and a pair of dirty work boots that have lasted this long, right? Ingrid is examining a novelty mug and Leonie is digging through a small pile of holiday decorations. She pulls a shining ornament from the pile and hands it to Ingrid.

“For the tree,” she notes before diving back in. Ingrid looks at the ornament thoughtfully.

“Where will we put a  _ tree?”  _ Ingrid asks.

“Someone else can worry about that,” Leonie says. The small pile has been sufficiently decimated. “I want to know how we’re getting one in the first place.”

Ingrid shrugs. “Dimitri said he’d take care of it.”

“I should offer to lend them my truck,” Leonie says.

Ingrid thinks on this suggestion. Leonie’s truck is hell on wheels, more rust than steel and more duct tape than federally approved car parts. The whole thing jerks when it switches gears. The reverse is blown and so is the heat. 

“If anyone other than you drives that truck, they’ll die.”

Leonie laughs good naturedly. “Hey, it still runs, doesn’t it?”

Ingrid concedes that the truck does, indeed, go forward.

Later, on the drive back to the house, Leonie pulls over wordlessly on the boulevard. Ingrid helps her load up a truly heinous replica of Saint Seiros, herself. The paint is peeling, some of her fingers are missing, and it’s absolutely perfect. Ingrid pockets a couple pine cones while they’re at it.

* * *

Hilda, Ferdinand, and Lorenz sit near one another at the massive wooden dining table in their house. Between them are piles of loose leaf paper, strings of fairy lights, some notecards, glitter, a few books, and a bunch of holiday magazines. Hilda rifles through the pile while Ferdinand and Lorenz bicker about something she doesn’t care about.

Blah blah, playlist. Blah blah, catering. Ugh. These two don’t know how to have  _ fun. _

“Okay so, instead of that,” Hilda interrupts, “what if we come up with something cool? Not, like, whatever thing you’re arguing about.”

Ferdinand and Lorenz listen politely. Lorenz gestures for her to continue. Yikes, she didn’t have more to say.

“Like, uh, champagne! Everyone loves champagne.”

“Ah, yes, we’ve already selected the champagne,” Ferdinand says. He starts ruffling through his notes but Hilda decides she doesn’t give a shit and goes with Plan B.

“Hors d'oeuvres, then! Like, little cocktail weenies or whatever!”

“I believe this falls under catering,” Lorenz says dryly.

“Ugh! Fine! Where will we dance?”

“Dance? I suppose we could move all the furniture,” Ferdinand suggests. Lorenz nods thoughtfully. Hilda loses it.

“You guys!” Hilda snaps, “you have to think about  _ everyone!  _ Not just yourselves!”

Ferdinand and Lorenz look at her, stumped. She scoffs.

“You know! Like, what about Marianne?”

“Marianne is welcome to join!” Ferdinand says.

“That’s not what I  _ mean! _ Ugh, honestly!” Hilda sighs and levels her voice, “I mean like, maybe we should have some calm events. Or a calm room. Or a calm party! Marianne deserves to have fun, too!”

She chooses to ignore Lorenz’s piercing gaze and focuses on Ferdinand, instead.

“That’s an excellent idea!” Ferdinand exclaims, “I’m sure Bernadetta would greatly appreciate a calm space, as well.”

“Y-yes! And Bernadetta!” She did not think about Bernadetta.

“And Bernadetta,” Lorenz says with a mysterious look on his face. Mysterious because she’s not looking.

“Yeah, yeah, we already established Bernadetta,” Hilda waves Lorenz’s silent accusation away and very quickly steers the conversation away. “What about decorations? I could make some  _ super _ cute wall hangings and stuff. Oohh, what about tinsel macrame?”

“That sounds hideous,” Lorenz says bluntly.

“Uh, rude!”

It’s at this moment that Leonie struts into the room looking impossibly proud of herself. There’s a smudge of  _ something  _ on her cheek and several smears of mud on her pants. Hilda’s stomach sinks; this is never a good sign.

“What in the  _ world _ happened to you?!” Hilda cries.

“What? Nothing!” Leonie looks completely bewildered. Does she know? Should Hilda tell her?

“You’re covered in mud,” Lorenz points out so Hilda doesn’t have to.

“Oh! That! Well, you guys will never guess what I found.” Leonie grins and gestures to someone behind her.

Pushed forward by an equally muddy Ingrid is something so ugly Hilda  _ screams.  _ What must be intended to be some sort of statue of Saint Seiros looks more like a horror movie monster. The paint has peeled away from its eyes and lips, giving the illusion that its entire face is a smooth expanse of pulled skin. Several details have been chipped away with time, including all the fingers except the left middle, and it is absolutely, entirely,  _ disgustingly _ covered in mud and grime.

“Why did you bring that inside?!” Hilda screams.

“Because she’s  _ perfect!”  _ Leonie says, gesturing to the atrocity. 

“She’s hideous!” Unlike tinsel macrame,  _ Lorenz. _

“She could use a bit of paint,” Ingrid says as she drapes an arm over the definitely haunted statue, “but she’s got potential. Someone was just gonna throw her out!”

“Can’t imagine why,” Hilda murmurs.

“How could you possibly — where will that go?!” Ferdinand finally comes to his senses and says something reasonable.

“In the living room!” Leonie says like it was perfectly obvious.

“And where will you  _ paint _ it?”

Leonie opens her mouth to respond with something equally disgusting when she’s cut off.

_ “What  _ is all this excitement over?” Hubert’s voice drifts from around the corner and beyond the grave. 

“Check out this incredible statue I found on the side of the road,” Leonie says proudly because she doesn’t know fear, “I think she’s just perfect for the Seiros Day party.”

“You are aware, correct? That Seiros Day is over a month away?” he asks dryly. Leonie puffs out her chest before responding.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, does it?” Ferdinand stands from his seat and stares Hubert down, daring him to say something. Hubert isn’t intimidated; if anything, he’s amused.

“Ah, I should have known,” Hubert drawls and Ferdinand’s eyebrow twitches, “something so superfluous could only be put together by one man.”

“I hardly know what you mean!”

Hilda looks between the two eagerly, mentally cataloguing every hilarious detail to share with Claude later, including Ferdinand’s twitching eyebrow and Hubert’s excessively tight posture. 

“I’m only saying, perhaps such a holiday doesn’t require so much effort and planning.”

“And  _ I’m _ only saying there’s nothing wrong with a little festive spirit!” Ferdinand straightens his own posture to match Hubert’s. Hilda wonders if they have the same stick up their asses. “You don’t have to participate, Hubert, if you think it’s so below you!”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Hubert sneers before turning on his heel and walking out anticlimactically. 

Hilda huffs. She was so close to watching them duke it out. Ferdinand slumps back down in his chair, looking absolutely miserable, and accepts Lorenz’s soothing hand on his shoulder. They have a hushed, emotional conversation that Hilda is apparently not allowed to eavesdrop on. She glances up to Leonie and Ingrid, who are carrying the cursed statue off, and she gives the fuck up and leaves to find Claude.

* * *

Mercedes prefers to keep her room calm. Tranquil. She’s burning an incense stick on her bedside table, filling the room with the scent of smoke and lavender, a combination that has the dual purpose of calming the nerves and covering the smell of her weed. She likes to think of her space as somewhere she can decompress, and somewhere her friends can visit if they need to let their worries wash away.

One such friend sits across from her at a low table, a wonderful thing she found on sale that functions as a tea table, coffee table, bedside table, desk — suffice to say, it’s a lovely piece. She, herself, is seated on a plush floor pillow; her guest, however, seems perfectly content to sit directly on the rug.

“Here you are,” she offers as she fills the small cup in front of him with chamomile tea from her magically heated teapot. It may be old fashioned, but she’s quite fond of hosting little tea parties. Maybe it’s the little girl in her.

“Thank you,” Dimitri says politely.

Mercedes smiles serenely in response. Dimitri takes a jittery sip and she pretends not to notice some drip down his chin. She has her own tea to mind. She closes her eyes and enjoys the aroma before taking her own sip, and by the time she opens her eyes again the drip has mysteriously disappeared.

“This was a wonderful idea, Dimitri, thank you,” Mercedes says. She means it; time spent with friends is time well spent.

“Yes! Thank you for humoring me,” Dimitri laughs, “I enjoy spending time with you, Mercedes.”

“That’s very kind, Dimitri, I enjoy spending time with you as well.”

A silence settles between them; it weighs on Dimitri’s shoulders and pools around him, touching Mercedes with its stiff branches. How bothersome.

“Annette mentioned you had something to ask me?” she says, breaking the quiet and yanking a startled Dimitri from his thoughts.

“I — uh,” Dimitri’s face is bright pink, chin to hairline. Whatever it is he has to say must be very important.

“Yes, Dimitri?” she encourages.

“Ah! Are you, um,” he takes a moment to find the words, “are you looking forward to Seiros Day?”

Mercedes tilts her head. “Dimitri, Seiros Day isn’t for another moon and a half.”

Dimitri’s shoulders tense and he laughs nervously. Mercedes waits patiently until, finally, he responds.

“Of course, yes, that was a silly thing to ask,” he says tightly. She takes pity and helps him along.

“I’m looking forward to it, of course,” she says. His shoulders relax a bit and she follows his lead. “You must be looking forward to it quite a bit! What are you most excited for?”

“Oh,” poor Dimitri is always so caught off guard when asked about himself, “I’m not particularly excited. I’m simply looking forward to spending time with friends and, ah, loved ones.” He looks at his hands as he finishes his sentence.

“That’s lovely!” Mercedes says. His eyes shoot up to her. “In that case, I’m excited to spend time with friends and loved ones, as well. What a lovely sentiment.”

Dimitri laughs nervously and Mercedes decides that’s enough of that. She gently steers the conversation toward schoolwork and their upcoming finals. It takes some pushing, but Dimitri eventually relaxes into the conversation and has a lovely time. She hates to be such a source of stress.

Later, when the teapot is empty and the pastries eaten, she bids Dimitri farewell and listens to his hurried footsteps as he shuffles down the hall. She waits.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

_ “Dimitri!” _ Annette screams furiously from down the hall. Mercedes chuckles. The poor, poor boy; sometime soon he’ll pluck up the courage, and she intends to let him have that point of pride.

* * *

The letter Byleth left on Seteth’s desk lays out on the kitchen counter, bathed in soft light coming through the open window. Byleth smiles; it’s not every day they hear from Flayn, and it’s not every year — or even decade, these days — that they get to see her. It’s gotten easier over the last millennium or so, but for how much Byleth misses her, Seteth misses her tenfold.

So when they received a letter from her announcing her intent to come home for Seiros Day Byleth was sure to leave it out where Seteth would find it, conspicuously framed by pine branches and holly.

It’ll be lovely to remember Sothis and Rhea as a family. Perhaps one year they can invite the other remaining children of the goddess. One year in a very, very distant future.

She adjusts the sleeves of her sweater and retrieves her phone. It’s a curious thing, but she got the hang of it quickly enough. She supposes she should check on the students —  _ her _ students. They would always be her students, regardless of how many lifetimes they lived, with or without her. She pops open their group chat, ignores whatever bomb went off, and asks if they have any Seiros Day plans.

She gets an immediate wave of responses that are equally irritated and amused. She smiles. 

Flayn will be excited to see them as well. She informs them her  _ sister-in-law _ will be visiting for the holiday, and will they have space for three more in their plans?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	3. A Moon Away

“Put your decorations into the pile! Now!”

Dorothea’s authoritative voice cuts through the bickering. The room goes silent. Everyone turns to stare at her. 

“I said put your decorations into the pile!”

Dorothea is, of course, referring to the pile of tinsel, pinecones, and what appears to be a DIY statue of Saint Seiros in the middle of the living room. She’ll force everyone to work together in this damn house, using violence if necessary. If someone dies, someone dies.

Everyone does what she says, some with more care than others (ahem,  _ Raphael)  _ and, when every single person’s arms are empty, Dorothea kneels in front of the now massive pile and beckons everyone over.

“We’re going to decide where everything goes together, one by one,” Dorothea explains. 

Groans of dissent ripple through the room. Dorothea ignores them.

“How about this?” she lifts up a pile of multicolored tinsel and looks around expectantly. Everyone look awkwardly at one another until, finally, Ignatz speaks up.

“Maybe we should put all the bigger things out first,” he suggests, “and put the smaller decorations around those?”

Dorothea nods and sets the tinsel down, exchanging it for the largest item in the pile: Saint Seiros, herself.

The room is silent.

“Let’s put her in the window!” Leonie declares.

“Absolutely not,” Lorenz says.

“Why not? It’s not fancy enough for your high class tastes?”

“It’s simply hideous!”

“She’s beautiful,” Leonie says. She stomps over, picks up the statue, and places her looking out the window. “She’ll watch over us and protect us. Why don’t you appreciate all she does?”

“She doesn’t do anything!”

Hubert speaks up from the doorway, scaring the piss out of everyone. “Keep her there. It’s perfect.”

“It’s perfect!” Ferdinand declares, “she will stay!”

When Dorothea looks back to Hubert he’s gone.

“Well, majority rules,” Dorothea shrugs. Lorenz does not like this.

“Fine! Fine! Where shall we put this, then?” he asks, gesturing to a woven tapestry Dorothea can only assume he contributed.

“That can go behind the television,” Ignatz suggests, “it’s the perfect backdrop for Seiros Day movies.”

“Ignatz, you have a wonderful eye for aesthetics, as always,” Lorenz says. Dorothea hands the tapestry to Raphael to hang.

They continue through the pile, Ignatz directing and Raphael placing, sorting through Leonie and Ingrid’s thrift store finds, Bernadetta’s hand stitched ornaments, Claude’s books detailing the history of the celebration, Hilda’s themed crafts, and —

“What the hell is this?” Dorothea asks, holding up what looks like a horse made of hay and wrapped up with red ribbon.

“That’s a yule goat!” Sylvain supplies.

“A what?”

“A yule goat!” he seems satisfied with his own answer.

“Yes, we heard you,” Lorenz says. Ingrid is holding back laughter. Ashe is dumbfounded. Dorothea wonders what the hell happens in eastern Faerghus. “What does that mean?”

“You all don’t know what a yule goat is?”

“No, we —”

Dorothea freezes mid-sentence.

There’s shuffling and grunting coming from the front door.

“Is everything okay?” she calls. The shuffling pauses.

“Yes, don’t worry about me!” Dimitri’s voice calls back. 

Dorothea doesn’t know Dimitri particularly well, but she knows his three childhood friends well enough to know there’s always a reason to worry about him. She briskly walks to the entry, her heels  _ tap-tap-tapping _ across the hardwood, and freezes when it comes into view.

Dimitri has made it through the doorway just fine. What hasn’t is the massive tree.

“Dimitri,” Dorothea starts, “are you sure you wouldn’t like help?”

Dimitri waves her off. “No, no, I just have to maneuver it a bit differently. You should focus on decorating!”

Dorothea does not think that’s a good idea.

“Dimitri, sweetie, let me grab Raph,” she says, ignoring his protests.

Several minutes later the two men stand in the entry, staring at the tree Dimitri so kindly brought home and jammed in the doorway. They take turns scratching their heads and huffing. Dorothea thinks they might be trying to put their brain cells together, but she can’t be sure.

“Maybe if we just… pull really hard…” Raphael suggests.

“I tried that already, perhaps we need to angle it differently,” Dimitri says.

“What if we both pull on it?”

Dimitri scratches his chin, pondering the suggestion. “That could work…”

Dorothea watches in silent horror as Dimitri and Raphael each firmly grab the tree and  _ pull, _ showering the stoop and entry in pine needles, hardly even getting the tree through the doorway, and yet completely and utterly jamming it. She’s starting to think she may have made a mistake.

“I don’t think that worked,” Dimitri observes. Raphael nods. Dorothea dies.

“What the  _ hell _ is  _ this?!” _ a very, very angry voice shouts from beyond the tree.

“Ah, Felix!” Dimitri shouts, “can you help us angle the tree to get it inside?”

“You fucking — this is at least four meters tall!”

_ That’s around thirteen feet, _ Dorothea thinks helpfully.

“Yes, I got the largest one they would sell me!” Dimitri responds excitedly.

_ “This isn’t going to fit in the house!” _

Dorothea watches in slow motion as Dimitri’s brain hard stops, blue screens, and restarts. 

“Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” Raphael agrees.

“Oh,” Dorothea realizes.

“Oh!” Felix shouts.

“Dimitri, we should cut this down,” says Dorothea. Dimitri looks utterly defeated.

“Now, hold on!” Raphael says. Dimitri looks at him hopefully. “I bet there’s a way to make this work!”

“Fuck this,” Felix says muffled through the tree.

“My apologies, Felix!” Dimitri shouts. His apologies are ignored.

“No apologies necessary!” Raphael says, “this tree is perfect, and we’ll get it inside! Perfectly!”

“That’s very kind,” says Dimitri. Dorothea decides she has had enough and goes back into the living room to see Felix giving Sylvain the finger through the window.

“Why?” she asks.

“I offered to help him climb through since he’s so short,” Sylvain says, “he didn’t like that.”

“If you survive through the night I’ll be shocked,” says Ashe. Dedue nods. So does everyone else.

There’s a crash from the entryway, followed by cheering.

“Got it!” Raphael shouts.

* * *

Linhardt leans against Caspar’s shoulder the entire walk home from class. The snow, the stress, the  _ winter vibes  _ are all so exhausting. He could close his eyes and nap like this if the walkways weren’t so icy. Perhaps he will anyway.

“Do you think they’re still decorating?” Caspar asks excitedly, ruining any aspirations of rest.

“Hm, we’ll find out soon,” Linhardt sighs.

“I hope they are!” Caspar breaks into his massive trademark smile and Linhardt finds himself hoping, quite sleepily, that they are as well. “I love decorating for Seiros Day! It’s like, the best part!”

“Hm, I thought your favorite part was the food.”

Caspar laughs, wholeheartedly and with his full body. “I like that part, too!”

Caspar’s pure warmth brings a gentle smile to Linhardt’s face. 

“Let’s hurry up, then,” Linhardt says, “the sooner we’re back the sooner I can nap.”

“You don’t want to help decorate?!”

“No.”

Caspar laughs again. He laughs as they walk up to the front stoop and he laughs as they walk in the front door and, when floating golden lights and sparkling come into focus, his laughter turns into an unholy squeal. Linhardt covers his ears and waits for Caspar to quiet down.

“Is everything okay?” Dorothea asks, concerned, as she joins them in the entry.

“IT ALL LOOKS SO GOOD!” Caspar shrieks. Linhardt covers his ears again. What a bother.

Dorothea says something. He doesn’t hear it.

“WOW! DO YOU NEED HELP?”

Dorothea says something else. He doesn’t hear that, either. He does, however, see Caspar sprint to the living room and he takes that as a sign it’s safe to uncover his ears. 

“THIS TREE IS GIGANTIC!”

“I don’t understand how he has the energy,” Linhardt says to an amused Dorothea. She winks at him and follows Caspar, and he follows closely behind. He’ll give Caspar an hour, but after that he’s pulling him to bed for a nap.

* * *

Lysithea sets her phone face down in her lap and sighs; she’s really done it this time. She knows better than to let stress and time constraints run her life, and yet she lets it happen time and time again. Now her knees shake and burn when she stands and her hip feels like it’s being pulled apart.

Rest and ice and rest and ice only help so much, and so she’s sitting in her bed, magicking books over one by one, trying to find something — anything — to distract her.

There’s a gentle tap at her bedroom door. She looks up, relieved.

“Yes?” she calls.

The door pushes open and the incredibly welcome sight of cake greets her. She supposes Felix is okay, too.

“You didn’t,” she breathes.

Felix smirks and fear pierces through her heart when he lifts up a plate of roasted vegetables.

“Don’t make that face,” he chides, “when’s the last time you ate anything green?”

“When’s the last time you confronted your own feelings and past trauma?” Lysithea snaps back.

“If that’s supposed to be my frame of reference then I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Felix says dryly. Lysithea snorts.

Footsteps click down the hallway and, before she can respond, she has a new visitor.

“Lysithea,” Edelgard’s authoritative voice cuts in between them before she even gets to the doorway. Lysithea and Felix both turn to see her hesitate upon seeing Lysithea isn’t alone. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you would have company,” she says.

“There’s no need to be so formal,” Lysithea says, “we all live here.” 

“Right,” she says, glancing once more to Felix, who doesn’t indicate giving any shits, and focuses on Lysithea once more. “I heard you weren’t feeling well. You can’t push yourself so hard.”

“She just told me she hasn’t eaten a vegetable in nine years,” Felix says. To the untrained ear his voice is completely deadpan, but Lysithea knows him well enough to hear the slight waver from holding back his laughter.

She throws a book at his head.

He catches it without looking up.

“I somehow doubt that’s entirely true,” Edelgard says and, just like she can read Felix, she can see the sparkle in her eyes.

“I’m eating vegetables right now! See?” Lysithea protests before gingerly picking up a brussel sprout and putting it in her mouth. “Mmm!” she lies with a grimace. Ugh, it’s so salty. What did Felix put on this?

“Great! Now do that every day!” Smugness personified invites himself into the conversation in the form of Claude von Riegan. She glares at him. “Now, Lysithea, don’t you think it’s a bit childish —”

Edelgard wisely puts a hand over Claude’s mouth.

Claude licks it.

“You’re disgusting,” she groans. 

“A disgusting  _ genius,” _ Claude corrects with a wink. He directs his teasing to the next obvious target, much to Lysithea’s relief. “Felix! My boy! I’m surprised to see you here!”

Felix scoffs.  _ “Why?” _

“I’m just surprised to see you have friends! Well, friend.”

Edelgard hurries to cover up her snicker with a cough. Lysithea doesn’t bother and barks with laughter.

“You’re all fucking stupid,” Felix grumbles.

“Aw, don’t be like that! I know at least one person who loves you,” Claude winks  _ again. _

“Don’t you fucking dare —”

_ “It’s Sylvain,” _ Claude stage whispers.

“I’m leaving,” Felix stands, hesitates, turns to Lysithea and says, “if you don’t eat all those vegetables I  _ will _ know, and I  _ will _ go to an antique store, buy a possessed doll, and exorcise it in your room and encourage the ghost to stay here forever.”

Lysithea gulps. “That’s a stupid threat! There’s no such thing as ghosts!” she says, heart pounding.

Felix shrugs. “Don’t eat the vegetables, then.”

As soon as Felix leaves the room (with no less than two elbow jabs from Claude as he passes) Lysithea shovels the remaining vegetables into her mouth, ignoring the amused look Claude gives her.

“Well, I don’t think he needs to be so threatening,” Edelgard sighs, “but I can’t argue with the results.”

* * *

Hilda is sitting in her room, needle and embroidery thread in hand, carefully threading an intricate design of carnations and snakes onto the back of a pastel pink denim jacket. It’s the perfect balance of concentration and meditation where her brain is able to hone in on the technical and aesthetic details of her project while she’s free to think about anything and everything. Right now she’s thinking she should’ve painted this instead.

“Stupid,” she mutters as she pushes her needle through with more force than necessary. “Stupid, stupid, stupid— “

A light tapping on her door interrupts her very positive self talk.

“What?” 

“Um, Hilda?”

At the sound of Marianne’s voice Hilda throws everything she was working on to the floor and gives her her full attention.

“Yeees, Marianne?”

Marianne, cutie extraordinaire, oblivious love of her life, opens the door and smiles nervously.

“I- I wanted to ask you a question,” she says, her voice stronger than it was when they first met but still wavering. Hilda nods her along. She takes a deep breath. “Well, your um, your crafts are always really cute… and personal... “

Hilda nods. She’s right.

“Maybe, um, you would be willing to show me?”

Hilda thinks she’s on cloud nine.

“Of course, Marianne!”

Her smile relaxes. “Thank you, Hilda. I-I want to make gifts for our friends. Ones they’ll treasure.”

“Anyone would treasure something you made!” Hilda declares. “Let’s go shopping for supplies later.”

Marianne nods. “That sounds lovely,” she says and Hilda’s heart might burst, “I’ll be ready.”

Marianne shuts Hilda’s door as she leaves again and Hilda does a silent cheer. One on one time with Marianne, getting closer to one another, confessing feelings, gently guiding her hand, it’s like a romance novel. She sighs dreamily. It’s the season for love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i have to finish the first section of this fic but i'm stuck  
> my wife: what's happening  
> me: dimitri got a tree and it's too big  
> my wife: have them affix it long ways to the ceiling  
> me: how do they do that  
> my wife: it falls and pulls all the drywall down and they die  
> me: oh no, byleth has to use her divine pulse to save them  
> my wife: byleth uses all her divine pulses to convince dimitri to get a smaller tree
> 
> [twitter](www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	4. Two Weeks Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there’s a mistletoe “war” at the end of this chapter. nobody is hurt or assaulted, and the house agreed on the terms offscreen beforehand, but the POV character is caught by surprise. if you’re uncomfortable with this type of thing, you can safely skip the fourth section after byleth attempts to parallel park. i'll have a summary of this section at the end

“I think that does it!” Mercedes says. She pulls her pan off the burner and sets it on a woven trivet to cool. “If the gingerbread’s done we can call everyone in.”

Ashe nods and runs from the room to inform the house. Mercedes looks to Dedue.

“I look forward to seeing what everyone makes,” she says. 

“I only hope this wasn’t a mistake,” Dedue says gravely. Mercedes cocks her head.

“A mistake? How would it be a mistake?”

Dedue only shakes his head. Mercedes accepts his answer.

And while Mercedes wouldn’t say it was a  _ mistake, _ per se, she now understands Dedue’s trepidation.

The dining room table is  _ covered _ in frosting, sugar, and candy. Dimitri, who looks utterly heartbroken, is staring forlornly at his pile of shattered gingerbread pieces. Annette’s gingerbread house, despite being perfectly cooked, is now scorched after a botched enchantment set it on fire. Hilda poured her entire container of glitter over hers, making it a gingerbread house with a pile of glitter on top. Hubert’s is pitch black somehow.

“Hey, Lorenz, look! I finished my roof!” Claude points to his expertly laid peppermint roof. Lorenz scoffs.

“Yes, Claude, it looks quite nice, thank you,” he says, focused on laying his cotton candy to be absolutely perfect, “now I must insist —”

“I even made my door open and close,” Claude interrupts with a demonstration. Lorenz ignores him.

Mercedes raises her eyebrows at Dedue, who looks like this went exactly how he expected.

“These all look lovely, everyone,” Mercedes says, taking the time to nod meaningfully at Dimitri who perks up a bit. “I’ll just take everyone’s project and put them on the mantle, okay?”

“And what about the bugs?” Lorenz asks.

“Marianne helped me cast a spell to repel bugs,” she explains. Lorenz nods approvingly.

“Very well, then, I suppose this is finished,” he says. His gingerbread house looks divine.

“I’m done, too!” Claude declares. Next to Lorenz, his house looks impossibly intricate; he even took the time to add a chimney constructed from Dimitri’s destroyed pieces. Mercedes puts them next to one another. Lorenz looks pleased despite himself.

* * *

Bernie is doing what Bernie does best: minding her own business. She’s holding her embroidery hoop in her lap and threading through the fabric drawn taught across, hunched over like she’s not afraid of long-term back pain. The winter scene she carefully sketched out is coming together. She hopes Edelgard likes it.

There’s a knock at her door. She ignores it.

She brings her project closer to her face and focuses on the  _ exact _ spot she wants her needle to land. She hits. She scores! Point for Bernie.

There’s another knock. She ignores it.

She pulls the thread tight and leans back to admire the single new line on her canvas. Bit by bit, piece by piece, needlecraft comes together in a series of delicate movements that Bernie finds calming. Meditative. If she could do this all day and never leave she would, and she’s not shy about who she tells.

There’s another knock. A very loud one.

She screams at the sight of her open door.

“Bernadetta! Come on!” Ingrid says at the same time Caspar shouts, “BERNADETTA! WE’RE HANGING OUT!”

“No! I’m working on gifts!” she shrieks to no avail. Ingrid and Caspar advance on her looking devilish and terrifying.

“The whole house is watching holiday movies together,” Ingrid says bluntly. Bernadetta gulps. “That includes you. Let’s go!”

Bernie shakes her head.

“You’ve left us with no choice. Caspar, plan B.”

Caspar roars and Bernie is helpless to stop him as he throws her over his shoulder and barrels down the stairs.

“RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME!” Bernie screams.

Because they hate her and want her dead, Caspar and Ingrid do not release her. Caspar slides to a stop across the hardwood floor and spins around, giving Bernie a chance to survey the room.

Piled across sofas and rugs and blankets and cushions sits literally everyone, save for Caspar, Ingrid, and herself. Dorothea’s arm is hooked through Edelgard’s, Ferdinand looks positively  _ thrilled  _ to have Hubert next to him, Sylvain is taking up too much space and Hilda is taking her revenge by sitting in his lap, Claude sits on the floor in front of Lorenz cozied up between his legs, and Ingrid walks around her to sit next to Leonie, whose arm is draped over the couch. Everyone else is arguing over which holiday movie they want to watch.

Bernie decides this is too many people.

“I want no part in this,” she declares. 

“Aw, c’mon Bernadetta,” Sylvain says and she knows she’s going to hate what comes out of his mouth next, “you love romances! Maybe they’ll give you story ideas.”

She has to kill him.

“Ooh, story ideas!” Hilda coos, fluttering her lashes at Bernie, “I wanna hear  _ all _ about those.”

“Caspar, please throw me off a cliff,” Bernie whines.

Caspar does not throw her off a cliff.

“Actually, Bernadetta, I think we could really use your help,” Edelgard says. She gestures to the pit in the center of the room where Dimitri, Annette, and a handful of other, much less passionate friends are arguing. “You have good taste, you choose.”

“I have good taste,” Dimitri pouts.

“No you don’t,” Edelgard says bluntly. He looks, crestfallen, to Bernie.

The pressure gets to Bernie. This type of responsibility is too much to bear. She goes limp on Caspar’s shoulders, playing dead to fool the predators. She knows her place in the food pyramid and she’ll exploit it wherever she can.

“Bernadetta, please help us choose,” Ingrid says.

Damn.

“I don’t care! A cute one!” she cries.

“The reindeer one it is!” Annette declares. Bernie doesn’t look up to confirm, but she assumes the defeated sigh comes from Dimitri.

“This is so stupid,” Felix mutters out of sight. 

“You’re just mad because your favorite didn’t get picked,” Sylvain says, followed by a high-pitched yelp and a cackle from Hilda and Claude.

“Release me… please…”

Caspar takes pity on Bernie and sets her down on the floor in front of Edelgard and Dorothea. She takes an offered blanket and cocoons herself into safety, far away from the terrifying judgemental stares of her most trusted and beloved friends. Annette starts her movie of choice, Ingrid dims the lights before sitting down, and everyone focuses on the tale of two reindeer saving Seiros Day.

When the last scene fades to black and the credits roll, Bernie hears a soft sniffling behind her.

“Oh, you cannot be serious,” Hubert mutters.

“How can such a story not touch your heart?” Ferdinand cries. “It’s a story of friendship! Of family! Of celebration!”

Bernie turns to see what all the fuss is about and  _ screams _ when everything goes black.

“Bernadetta! Quiet!” Edelgard’s voice is hushed and close. She swallows and nods slowly. Edelgard retracts her hands from Bernie’s face and, when everything comes into focus, she realizes something incredibly important.

“Are you crying?” she whispers. 

Edelgard, who is crying, shakes her head. Dorothea shushes Bernie and winks.

* * *

Sylvain stretches his arms above his head, taking up as much space as physically possible, and wraps his arm around Dorothea’s shoulders in the smoothest move known to mankind. The kind of move that’ll go down in history. A classic, so expected that it’s almost  _ un _ expected. He deserves an award for this.

Dorothea scoffs and pushes his arm off. Oh well.

“I can’t believe nobody wanted to come with us,” he says as if nothing happened.

“Maybe they all knew you’d hit on everyone who came,” Dorothea quips.

“Ouch! I think they were scared to get too cold to your ice cold heart,” he ripostes. Dorothea laughs in her fake, twinkling way.

“We both know they didn’t want to be seen in public with you,” she says, eyes sparkling.

Fuck, he loves this game. Dorothea’s a natural.

“I think we both have it wrong,” he says with his practiced smile, “they simply didn’t want to see a musical where  _ you’re _ not the star!”

That gets a genuine laugh out of Dorothea. Score.

“Oh, Sylvain, you drive me insane,” she says wistfully.

“I get that a lot,” he says with a wink. Then, because he doesn’t have to pretend to be smooth with Dorothea he sharply changes subject. “I’m starving.”

“Is this your way of asking me on a date? Because the answer is I’d rather die.”

“Damn, to plan B. Platonic dinner?”

She smiles. “You’re finally speaking sense, sweetheart.”

They make their way to an old favorite, a greasy diner where their formal attire doesn’t fit in and nobody cares. They get night coffee, night breakfast, and have night conversation and heart-to-hearts. The kind of things they can only do at night. 

It isn’t until they’ve ordered brownies and ice cream that Dorothea goes for the jugular.

“So,” Dorothea smiles sweetly over her dessert, “have anything  _ romantic _ planned for Seiros Day? Looking for a gift for that special someone?”

Oh, she knows. She knows he knows. He knows she knows that he knows.

“Ah, Dorothea, a guy like me can’t be tied down!”

He won’t admit it. Her sweet smile turns into a smirk.

“I couldn’t help but notice you at a  _ certain someone’s _ favorite store the other day —”

“Ah hell, Dorothea, were you spying on me?”

“If someone happens to be in a public place and  _ I _ happen to be in the same public place it’s not spying,” she says.

“I think it’s spying if you don’t say anything,” Sylvain objects.

“I don’t care,” she says easily.

Sylvain doesn’t have a good response so he sticks a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. It’s amazing.

“So what’s your plan?” she asks bluntly. She’s not gonna drop this.

“Well, uh,” Sylvain rests a hand on the back of his neck, “I was just gonna, I dunno, give him a gift in private.”

She stares. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah. What else would I do?”

She stares.

He blinks.

_ “Communicate?” _ Her words drip with disdain.

“What? Felix already knows —”

“No, dingus, he  _ doesn’t.” _ Dorothea sighs. “That’s how you got in this mess in the first place. It’s been  _ years, _ Sylvain, he doesn’t know or this would’ve been resolved.”

Sylvain shuffles around uncomfortably in his seat. “He has to know. I haven’t been subtle about it.”

“Sylvain, sweetheart, Felix is about as observant as one of Bernadetta’s plants.”

“Harsh,” he laughs, but she’s right. He thinks he might be about as observant as one of Bernadetta’s plants, too.

“Write him a letter,” Dorothea says, “write a speech, get down on one knee, whatever. He’s a worst case scenario kind of guy, he’s going to assume you’re being, I dunno, weird. Friendly. Definitely not romantic, unless that’s not what he wants, and we both know it is.”

Sylvain nods, letting the words sink in. “A letter?”

Dorothea nods.

He nods again. “A letter.”

* * *

“I am so excited to see everybody!” Flayn says as Byleth takes on the harrowing task of parallel parking in a college neighborhood. “I am pleased to hear they are getting along. I hope they will have happy lives.”

Byleth tries and fails to nod in acknowledgement.

“Would you like my assistance? I am quite good at driving.”

Byleth doesn’t say  _ no, _ but her silence answers for her. Flayn sighs.

“You are so stubborn at times.”

Byleth jerks the wheel one last time and the car rolls into place next to the curb between Leonie’s hell-on-wheels pickup and Edelgard’s red hatchback. Flayn applauds.

She’s grown since her last visit, Byleth realizes, but it doesn’t compare to how she’s changed since the unification; Flayn now stands nearly as tall as Byleth, her clothes mix seamlessly with modern trends, and her hair is carefully styled into a low braid. She’s taken advantage of her hair’s thickness and texture to conceal her ears. Seteth damn near had a panic attack when he first saw her pull her hair back, Byleth remembers fondly.

“They are in this house, correct?” Flayn asks. Byleth nods. “I am not surprised. Their penchant for chaos seems to have spanned across lifetimes.”

Byleth looks at her in a silent question. She giggles and gestures and Byleth looks closer.

The object of Flayn’s amusement comes into focus. Byleth snorts.

“Don’t tell Seteth,” Byleth tells her. Flayn covers her mouth until her laughter subsides.

“You do not think he will appreciate this lovely memorial for his sister?”

She eyes the spectacularly heinous Saint Seiros statue her students placed in the window facing the street.

“No.”

They exit the car and approach the front door when Flayn shoots out a hand to stop Byleth.

“Do you hear that?” 

Byleth listens. She does, in fact, hear that. Screaming like she hasn’t heard in a thousand years is coming from inside the house. She frowns and makes her way to the front door. She knocks. The screaming continues. Flayn raises her eyebrows.

“Are they okay?” she asks.

“They’re fine,” Byleth responds deadpan before throwing the door open. “See?”

Flayn doubles over laughing at the scene in front of them.

Shoes are scattered over the entry and up the staircase to the second floor. Scarves, hats, and other winter things trail up the stairs and end at a bewildered Ignatz, clinging to the railing for dear life, his usual impeccably styled hair sticking straight up in all directions. Byleth makes eye contact with him and, his arm shaking, he points to the kitchen to her right.

Byleth nods and follows his directions, Flayn trailing close behind. The kitchen is just as disastrous as the entry; a bag of flour has spilled all across the floor and sliding footprints tell a harrowing tale of destruction, the trail ending with a very pink Lorenz draped (very dangerously) over the stove.

“What happened here?” Flayn asks. Lorenz looks at her, eyes hollow.

“Save yourself,” he says.

“Wh —”

“Teach!”

Byleth and Flayn look in tandem to the entry at the other end of the kitchen. There, haloed by the sunny window behind them, stand Claude and Hilda, grinning wildly and holding  _ something _ in the air. Something small. Something…

“Is that  _ mistletoe?” _ Byleth asks. Their grins grow wider. Wilder.

“I warned you,” Lorenz says, his final words breathy as he collapses to the floor, surely dead.

“Run!” shrieks Flayn. Byleth sprints after her and they run through the living room, past a collapsed Ashe and Dimitri, down the hall littered with blankets and pillows and down, down the stairs into the basement, leaping over Caspar desperately crawling up the stairs. Every step they take Claude’s and Hilda’s footsteps grow closer, smarter; they know this house better than Byleth. This is a losing game.

Just as she comes to this realization Hilda skids to a stop in front of her. Byleth and Flayn scramble to turn around and run the other direction, where Claude has positioned himself with his shit-eating grin. They’re trapped. There’s nowhere to run.

“D-do your worst!” Flayn cries, covering her eyes. Byleth stands tall. If she must be taken down, she’ll be taken down proudly.

They advance upon them like true predators, a victorious glint in their eyes. Byleth swallows.

Claude’s eyes lock with Byleth. He raises his mistletoe; Hilda does the same to Flayn behind her. Distantly, Byleth realizes this Hilda has never met Flayn. This does not seem to deter her.

“Well, well, well,” Claude says with a smirk, “would you look at that? Mistletoe.” Hilda giggles out of sight.

Byleth raises her eyebrows, her expression stony.

“Be a shame if someone were to,” he takes Byleth’s hand in his own, “meet me under it.”

He leans down and brushes his lips against Byleth’s knuckles. Behind her, Flayn bursts into hysterical laughter, as does Hilda. Byleth, however, takes her loss in stride.

“I concede defeat,” she says, bowing to her opponent.

“And that leaves us… THE VICTORS!” he shouts up the stairs to an echo of cheers and groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flayn is criminally underappreciated
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)
> 
> SECTION 4 SUMMARY: Byleth brings Flayn to the house. It's destroyed. Several characters are exaggerating their untimely deaths. Hilda and Claude chase Byleth and Flayn with mistletoe, ultimately cornering them and kissing their knuckles, killing them instantly. Hilda and Claude are the winners and the other characters cheer and/or groan.


	5. One Week Away

Dimitri wrings his hands together, pointedly looking at the ground and  _ not _ at Mercedes.

She waits.

He clears his throat. He does not continue.

She waits.

He rocks back and forth on his heels and looks to the side, and then up, and  _ not _ at Mercedes.

She waits.

He takes a deep breath and looks at her.

She smiles.

He turns a deep shade of red and looks down again.

She’s getting kind of sick of waiting.

“Dimitri?”

He snaps to attention.

“You had something to ask me?”

“Y-yes!” 

She waits.

“I, um,” he looks up at her again. His face is still bright red from his neck to his hairline, his single eye fearful and yet excited. “I was wondering… I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Um, y-you’ll be at the, um, Seiros Day party, yes?”

“Yes, Dimitri, I’ll be there.”

“Great!” He does not look great. “I-I wish to see you there.”

“Dimitri?”

“Yes?”

“That wasn’t the question, was it?”

The look of pure terror assures her she said the right thing to get to the bottom of this.

“Ah, no. My apologies.” He sighs. “I wanted to ask something else.”

No shit. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if, well, if you would like to go together?”

She cocks her head. “As friends?” she asks, knowing damn well he doesn’t mean as friends.

“I-if that’s what you desire!”

“Dimitri,” her voice takes on an uncommon stern tone, snapping Dimitri to attention, “what do  _ you _ desire?”

He’s tense. His shoulders are tight. His arms are straight at his sides. He seems to be working up a sweat and she’s fairly sure his blush reaches far lower than his neck at this point.

Fuck, he’s cute.

“Truthfully, I desire to go as, uh, as a date,” he finally admits while looking very much so like he wants to fall into a hole and die.

She smiles and he freezes.

“I would like that very much, Dimitri.”

His entire body goes slack and she watches him collapse against a wall, breathing like he just finished a marathon and a half. She pats him on the shoulder.

“Okay! Okay. Okay,” he says to himself. “Thank you. I — thank you.”

She simply smiles and he walks away in a daze. Once he rounds the corner to the stairs she allows herself a silent laugh, though when Annette launches her arms around her they both lose control and run to Annette’s room, laughing.

* * *

Oh, he’s such a fool. Ferdinand is such an absolute and utter buffoon, a thoughtless jerk, a nincompoop! He simply cannot believe he could forget such an important person when shopping for gifts, and now he’s barely a week away from the Seiros Day party and he has nothing to show for it.

_ Serves him right for being such a grinch, _ he thinks bitterly.

No, that’s rude and unfair. Ferdinand is the one who forgot about Hubert when running through his list, and now he’s the one that must go shopping on such short notice. He dodges shoppers’ carts and baskets and weaves through crowds of people in holiday sweaters and pajamas on his journey to the specialty roastery that Hubert loves. 

It’s enough of a pain to get here that their coffee ends up being a rare treat, and Ferdinand intends to change that for him.

“Hello!” he greets, walking in the front door of the quite crowded roastery. His greeting is wasted, swallowed up by the crowd. This doesn’t deter his smile. 

He follows the flow of the other patrons and walks between two holiday displays to his right. He picks up a bag of light roast and clicks his tongue. This won’t do, the crest of Seiros is all over it.

This isn’t a Seiros Day gift, of course. No, Hubert is against that type of thing. This is only a friendly gift among friends and has nothing to do with the church at all! And since it has nothing to do with Seiros Day it’s fine that he didn’t go shopping sooner and that he forgot to get Hubert a gift earlier.

He doesn’t think about the plush he purchased for Edelgard.

“Pardon me!” He reaches over a stranger’s shoulder and investigates his find; it’s a bag of light roast, whole bean coffee. He thinks this is the same bag as what Hubert normally gets, A.K.A. not special at all.

He takes it with him nonetheless.

Ferdinand isn’t much of a coffee person, especially not compared to Hubert. Ferdinand could  _ probably  _ identify the difference between a dark and a light roast by taste, but notes of caramel? Pairs well with figs? These are things he doesn’t understand and never learned to parse, despite Hubert’s best attempts.

_ “It doesn’t literally taste like caramel,” _ Hubert had said,  _ “it tastes like the echo of caramel.” _

Nonsense.

He pokes around some more. It’s hard to get into the corners or the more extravagant holiday displays thanks to the crowds of people coming in and out and he’s soon forced to admit he’s going to have to  _ settle _ . 

He’s going to have to get Hubert this boring, everyday bag of coffee beans.

He looks at the bag in his hands forlornly, silently asking it for advice. As if it can hear his plea, the label replies:

_ Lightly acidic with a touch of blueberry. _

Not much of an answer, but he didn’t have high hopes. He sighs and looks around one last time.

Does he get Hubert something boring? Something he can get year round? Is taking the trip all the way to the suburbs for his favorite coffee enough of a gift? He really wanted to get him something limited edition, something  _ special… _

He sighs and reaches around a holiday display, grabbing a bag at random.

_ Notes of cinnamon and toasted chestnuts, _ the label tells him.

Whatever the hell that means.

He waits in line for approximately twenty years and refuses the complimentary gift wrap, accepting the two bags of coffee in a simple paper bag. From there he makes his plan: purchase black tissue paper and write a heartfelt letter to his dearest friend and confidante, touched by his heart just enough that, perhaps, Hubert will grace him with a kiss.

* * *

Lysithea sits on a couch between Claude and Annette, staring scrutinizingly at the board set out on the floor in the center of this weird lumpy circle they’ve made. She doesn’t have to look at Claude to know about his stupid smirk, nor does she have to look at Annette to know about her brow furrowed in concentration.

No, she simply has to make the right move.

“Can you go over the rules one more time?” Caspar pleads.

“You’re not going to learn it unless you try it!” Lysithea snaps. “Now give me a minute to think!”

Caspar quiets and in the silence she can damn near hear Claude’s smug face.

“Knock that off,” she snaps at him. He throws his hands up in defense.

“I did nothing!” Claude says with a laugh. She rolls her eyes. Typical.

She makes her move on the ridiculous board she’s sure Claude altered himself, covered in glitter and enchanted to play carols for some inane reason. She highly doubts it affects gameplay. 

“My move,” she declares. Sylvain whistles.

“Nice one,” he says.

She glares.

“Okay, then it’s my turn,” Annette says. She rubs her hands together and takes a deep breath. Lysithea thinks she’s about to unveil some sort of deeply thought out strategy when —

“What should I do?” Annette whispers to her. 

“Why would you ask me? Don’t you think I might lead you into a trap?” She doesn’t bother to temper her voice. 

“You’re so mean,” Annette grumbles. She moves her piece at random. “Here. Fine. My move.”

As they move around the board and everyone takes a turn, Lysithea realizes a few things.

One, Claude’s an idiot.

Two, nobody except her, Claude, and maybe Sylvain understand the rules.

Three, this game is likely meant to have four to six players, not fourteen.

And finally, when it gets to be her turn again and she receives a face full of glitter, she realizes she’s the idiot, after all.

“Claude!” she shrieks. He cackles.

“You’ve walked right into my trap!” he announces. “Behold, the glitter bomb!”

_ “Why does your stupid board game have a glitter bomb?!” _

“Where did you even put it?” Dorothea asks, leaning closer to investigate.

“Nuh-uh! A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Lysithea safely and successfully clears the glitter from around her eyes and says, “You asked Ignatz for help, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, Ignatz enchanted the board for me,” Claude says sheepishly.

“How many more of those are there?” Annette asks as she moves her piece at random again. Lysithea tries to shout a warning but she’s too late. Annette’s piece lands and the board plays one of those way too catchy holiday songs that get stuck in your head. You know, the one you hear a snippet of in the summer and you’re humming it for a month.

“Oh no,” Annette whispers, horror crossing her face.

“I love this song!” Caspar shouts.

“What is this song?” Petra asks. Dorothea murmurs an explanation and she nods in understanding.

“Claude, please,” Edelgard moans, “make it stop.”

“Sorry, no can do!” He leans back with his hands behind his head, “Annette landed on a trap! The song has to play.  _ In full.” _

The room groans. Lysithea contemplates murder. Edelgard leaves. Thirteen remain.

“Sylvain?” Sylvain snaps to attention. “Put Edelgard’s piece in the cemetery, please.”

Sylvain does as Claude orders and puts Edelgard’s piece in the cemetery, which is a section of the board decorated in little rhinestone bones. Nothing happens.

“Mercedes, you’re next!”

Mercedes triggers another glitter bomb. Annette frets over her. Ferdinand’s piece sprays a weird peppermint air freshener. Dorothea and Petra leave. Eleven remain, two more pieces join the cemetery. The look on Claude’s face is infuriating.

“Why did you do this?” Lysithea asks, more a statement than a question.

“To spread some holiday cheer!” Claude responds.

“Liar.”

“So?”

“Children, children!” Sylvain interrupts them and signs his own death sentence, “there’s no need to fight! Plenty of holiday cheer to go around.”

He then triggers another carol and Hilda gives Claude a dirty look before leaving with Marianne in tow. Ignatz follows closely behind them. Eight remain, three more pieces join the cemetery.

“What happens when we fill the cemetery?” Lysithea asks.

“You’ll see,” Claude says. She rolls her eyes. “Maybe the ghost of christmas past will pay us a visit!”

“That’s stupid, ghosts aren’t real,” she snaps. 

Dedue places his piece and with a  _ pop! _ pine needles are shot into the air, cascading down around them like confetti. Lysithea looks at the tree (bent at a 90 degree angle shortly before the top) and sees several bare branches. Of course.

Nobody else leaves until Annette triggers  _ another _ glitter bomb. She takes Mercedes by the hand and storms out, muttering about cleaning glitter out of  _ something. _ Ashe and Dedue exchange looks and, with an apologetic smile, follow the two out. Four remain, four more pieces join the cemetery.

“So what happens when the cemetery’s full?” Caspar asks as if Lysithea didn’t literally just ask the same thing.

“You’ll see,” Claude says again, “maybe lightning will strike!”

Caspar leaves. Three remain, one more piece joins the cemetery.

Lysithea looks at Sylvain. Sylvain looks at the board. Lysithea looks at Claude. Claude looks at Lysithea.

_ “What?” _ she snaps.

“Nothing!” he says.

“Sylvain!”

Sylvain looks up.

“Do you know what he’s planning?!”

“Claude’s planning?”

She picks up her piece and throws it at his face. It hits. She scores.

“Ow,” he says.

“Lysithea forfeits!” Claude declares. Her piece goes to the cemetery. “The cemetery’s full… I wonder what will happen?”

Nothing! Nothing at all will happen.

She tells herself.

“Nothing,” she says after fully convincing herself.

“Whatever you say,” Claude shrugs. Sylvain moves his piece. Confetti shoots out of the board.

“Oh dope, I win!”

“Nice! You get to choose what happens when the cemetery’s full!”

Lysithea blinks.

Sylvain winks at Claude.

Claude winks back.

Lysithea leaves.

* * *

Ashe surveys his chicken.

It’s a good chicken, if he may say so, himself. Not so big that it’ll take five hundred hours to cook, and not so small that it’ll dry out in thirty seconds. Laid out around the chicken are herbs and spices, broth and vegetables, ready to be cooked for what might be the perfect Seiros Day dinner.

He takes a deep breath and begins.

He takes his time to blot the skin dry and tuck the wings like his mom always did and sets it in his skillet. This kind of thing can be really emotional for him, bringing him back to a time years and years ago, before his parents passed, back to when he helped out around the family restaurant. His parents had prized simplicity — the quicker food can be prepped, the quicker food can be served. The original recipe used only salt.

Like, a ton of salt.

The salt is still important, and it’s a good base, but the wonder of a good base is building off of it.

He knew a bit about cooking before meeting Dedue. Hell, he considered himself something of an expert. He understands now that he was an expert at feeding children something a bit healthier than mac and cheese; Dedue’s the real expert.

Recalling all that Dedue has taught him about popular Duscur seasoning, Ashe blends up a dry rub — with the addition of an asston of salt — and rubs a solid coating inside and out with his bare hands. A layer of dry rub is caked on his fingers by the end of it, giving the illusion that he’s wearing rusty red gloves.

“Ashe?”

He freezes and, very slowly, turns to face his visitor. He thought he’d be alone in the kitchen this early in the morning, but Ingrid’s concerned gaze tells him otherwise.

“Yes?” he asks carefully.

“What did you do to your hand?”

“Ah, don’t tell Dedue, it’s a surprise,” he whispers. She looks incredibly concerned but nods anyway. He holds up both his hands to show her and steps aside.

“What… what did you do to that chicken?” she asks.

“I seasoned it,” he explains.

“There’s no chicken left.”

“There’s plenty of chicken under the seasoning!”

Ingrid blinks. “You won’t be able to taste the chicken, though.”

Ashe stares. “Taste the chicken..?”

“I mean, I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” she says, seeming to snap out of her daze and going straight for the fridge, “I just really like the taste of chicken, you know?”

“Um, Ingrid?”

She looks up from her rummaging. “Yes?”

“What does chicken taste like?”

She stares at him for a moment before returning to the task at hand. “It tastes like chicken.”

Ashe knows a lost cause when he sees one and gives up. Ingrid straightens up with a takeout box in her hands, grabs a fork, takes a bite, and continues as if she didn’t just drop that bombshell.

“So you’re surprising Dedue with a chicken?”

“Yes, I — don’t laugh,” he pleads. Ingrid raises her eyebrows. “I just thought, you know, he doesn’t really celebrate church holidays and all that. He’s so far away from his family and so am I. I thought I’d make something special that we could share.”

Ingrid nods. “Something that’s special to the two of you.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it!” Ashe feels his entire demeanor shift and he grins. Leave it to Ingrid to understand food-based bonding. “This is a family recipe that my parents used to make, but I added seasonings his mom likes, so it tastes like home.”

“Right. Will it still be good? With all that on it?”

Ashe shrugs. “I hope so. It probably won’t get any deeper than the skin anyway, it’s not like I’m marinating it.”

“Hm.” She ponders this as she chews another bite. “I think that’s very sweet, Ashe.”

“You really think so?”

She smiles softly. “I really do.”

Hours later, after Ingrid has left for class and Ashe has carved the meat, he sits down with Dedue, who is waiting very patiently.

“Will you try this for me?” Ashe asks, handing him a plate with various cuts. Dedue nods.

“It’s quite good,” he says evenly after taking his time savoring the meat. Ashe’s heart soars. “This is your parents’ recipe?”

“Kind of!” Ashe sits down next to him with his own plate and smiles. “I used my parents’ recipe as a base, but I used everything you taught me to try and improve on it, make something that we can call ours. You like it?”

“I do,” he says and, with the tiniest smile he says, “ours?”

“Yeah, you know, something special we can share for special occasions.”

Ashe is well versed in Dedue’s smiles; he can see the sliver of movement that indicates Dedue’s so, so happy.

“I would like that,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dear, dear mother, who i love very much, once told me she doesn’t like my chicken because i use too much seasoning (read: salt and pepper) and “it covers up the natural chicken flavor” and that stuck with me
> 
> anyway uh. cooking scenes are a particular challenge for me and something i've avoided writing thus far so hopefully that turned out ok! one chapter to go!


	6. Seiros Day

The kitchen is in ruins.

A column of flame leaps from the counter, scorching the previously white cabinets a horrid shade of ash while Annette screams apologies and repeatedly casts wind spells that do absolutely nothing to mitigate the destruction. Mercedes, who thinks this is  _ hilarious, _ is laughing to herself over a tray of expertly decorated cookies and leaves Annette to her fate. Lorenz, who is wearing an  _ ungodly _ holiday gown lit up with gold and green lights, and Dorothea, who is wearing normal clothes, are singing carols with a mix of traditional and made up lyrics. And, to top it all off, Hilda is taking advantage of the chaos to not-so-sneakily pour an entire bottle of rum in the eggnog.

“Hey, uh, guys?” Claude calls. Nobody pays him any attention. Hilda hides her empty bottle as if they aren’t all old enough to drink alcohol.

“Mercedes, please help!” Annette begs.

“Cover the fire to smother it out,” Mercedes replies serenely. Annette covers what Claude now recognizes as a mug with a plate. She lifts it up. The fire is gone and the bottom of the plate is blackened.

“Crisis averted!” she says.

“Guys?” Claude repeats. Nobody pays him any attention. 

Annette sips whatever she was making and grimaces. Lorenz’s singing is getting louder with each sip of eggnog. Hilda squeezes Claude’s bicep as she steps around him and into the hallway. 

“What happened in here?” he mutters to her.

“Annette tried to make hot chocolate,” Hilda explains thoroughly. Claude thinks about the pillar of flame that was scorching the cupboards a moment ago and decides not to think too hard about it. Instead he decides to value his life and vacate the kitchen.

“So! You gonna talk to Marianne?” 

Hilda pushes him into a wall and stomps away, disappearing behind a wall of people much taller than her. Damn slippery short people.

Speaking of short people.

“Edelgard! Edie! El!” Claude throws his arm around Edelgard’s shoulder. When she shrugs him off he rests his elbow on the top of her head, instead. “I’m so thrilled to see you and Hubert here. Are you getting into the festive spirit?”

Hubert glares at Claude intimidatingly. Too bad Claude fears no man.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh? So you still hate all this?” he gestures to the ostentatiously decorated room.

“I can’t say I approve, but there’s nothing wrong with spending time with friends,” she says evenly. He silently gives her props.

“And you, Hubert?”

Hubert stares, unblinkingly, and says, “Ferdinand and Edelgard asked me to come. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

Claude smirks. “Oh?  _ Ferdinand _ asked you to come?”

“I know you like to meddle in everyone’s love lives, Claude, but mind your own business,” Edelgard snaps. 

Claude’s never been good at taking direction.

“Hey, Ferdinand!”

Ferdinand spins around at the mention of his name, his perfectly styled ginger hair bouncing with him. “Yes, Claude?”

Hubert mumbles death threats under his breath. Claude pretends that’s not happening.

“Hubert’s here! Isn’t that swell?”

Ferdinand instantly stands straighter and glances over Claude’s shoulder. His smirk widens.

“Oh, Hubert, you came!” he damn near sings.

“You asked me to,” Hubert says flatly. Ferdinand’s eyes sparkle at the thought. These two are  _ hilarious. _

“Wow! Did you —  _ ow!” _ Claude rubs his side where Edelgard just punched him. He opens his mouth to continue his question and Edelgard punches him harder. He admits defeat.

“I’m so pleased, I know this isn’t your favorite thing,” Ferdinand says. Edelgard pulls Claude away from the pair who are now walking towards one another. Claude stands on his toes and cranes his neck to watch the evening’s show, but alas he only manages to get a glimpse of Ferdinand presenting Hubert with a parcel wrapped in black paper.

“Nice touch,” he says more to himself than anyone else.

“You leave them alone,” Edelgard snaps, “Do you know how long they’ve been dancing around one another?”

“And how long have you been dancing around Dorothea?” He gets another punch for that one.

“Go bother Dimitri!” She pushes a laughing Claude deeper into the party aaand he’s lost her. Damn short people and their mysterious ability to blend in with a crowd.

“What about me? Is everything okay? Does El need me?”

Claude hurts his neck snapping it up to see an incredibly pink Dimitri. “I think she said something about  _ oh, brother Dimitri! _ Not sure what that was about, though.”

Oh, Dimitri looks  _ so _ concerned, but even with his better vantage point he doesn’t manage to find Edelgard again. At least, not before Mercedes wraps her hand around his arm and hands him a cookie.

“Oh, Mercedes, those look divine!” Claude says. He watches in horror and fascination while Dimitri puts the entire cookie in his mouth. 

“Wow,” he says.

Mercedes smiles. “Thank you, Claude. I made it!”

* * *

“Wow, thanks! I made it!” Hilda brags to each of her gift recipients. They all love it, of course; gifts made from the heart mean a lot! 

“Hilda! I love it!” says Raphael as he lifts her into an inescapable hug.

“Really? This is beautiful,” Ignatz says about his new hand carved paintbrush.

“Why, Hilda, you shouldn’t have,” Sylvain says with a wink before handing her a wrapped gift. She beams.

“I really shouldn’t have,” she says fondly.

“What’d you get for me?” Claude butts in. Hilda rolls her eyes.

“A kick in the ass,” she does, in fact, kick him in the ass. Lightly. A friendly kick. He laughs and she fishes his gift out of her bag as well.

“Um, pardon me, Hilda?”

Hilda spins around at the sound of Marianne’s soft voice, completely ignoring Claude opening her gift. He’ll be fine. “Yeeees?”

“Can we, um,” she looks to the side and Hilda follows her gaze straight to the doorway.

“We sure can!” she says in a singsong voice. She takes Marianne’s hand — gently, like a princess — and walks the two of them into the hall and down to an office that’s been decorated and designated as the quiet room. The noise of the party is muted. It’s much easier to hear.

“I’m sorry,” Marianne begins. Hilda squeezes her hand. “I didn’t want to take you away from the party —”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Hilda laughs, “The quiet room is part of the party! I planned it myself.”

Marianne smiles and Hilda’s heart grows ten sizes. “It’s very nice, Hilda. You did a lovely job.”

She beams.

“The whole party is nice,” Marianne continues, “I’m thankful for the quiet room, yes, but seeing everyone celebrate together… I like it.”

“I’m so glad!” Hilda thinks any party would be nice with Marianne. “I worked  _ really _ hard,” she says anyway.

“You worked hard on everybody’s gifts, too,” she says. Marianne squeezes Hilda’s hand and Hilda dies. “I, um, I made you something.”

Hilda’s jaw drops. “No way. You what?!”

She laughs nervously. It’s like music or heaven, whatever it is Hilda’s definitely in love. “It’s nothing as good as what you make,” she says, “But I made it for you.”

Marianne reaches into her bag and pulls out a small parcel, wrapped in pastel blue paper with a cute little pink ribbon. Hilda accepts it with wide eyes, feeling it in her hands, savoring every moment, willing time to slow down around her so she can remember this night in perfect detail. 

“Open it,” Marianne quietly urges.

Hilda can only nod. She carefully undoes the ribbon and gently, so gently, peels the paper back. It’s too precious to tear. Too sweet to destroy. She knows, deep down, that she’ll be keeping this garbage for a long, long time.

Tears cloud her vision.

Hilda’s  _ definitely _ in love.

“Marianne, this is amazing,” she chokes out. She holds a small pouch in her hands, embroidery thread paints an incredible scene of a pink tree in spring, and sitting in its shade are two small figures, the only details embroidered in being their pink and blue hair.

“I — oh, no, the thing I made you doesn’t even compare,” she succumbs to her sobs. Marianne’s hands, kind yet commanding, hold her shoulders and keep her grounded. “This is amazing. I love it.”

“Oh, Hilda, I’ll treasure whatever you made me,” Marianne blushes, but it’s the sincere look in her eyes that shoots an arrow through her heart. Hilda nods shakily and pulls from her own bag a similarly small package, wrapped in kraft paper.

Marianne shows just as much kindness and care to the package even though it doesn’t compare, even though it wasn’t as thoughtful and special. Soon enough she holds a small wooden jewelry box in her hands, painted to reflect the northern ocean beaches from where she grew up. 

She stares.

Hilda quietly cries.

Oh no, now Marianne’s crying.

“Oh, Hilda, I love it,” she whispers.

Hilda can’t help it; she grins wide and giggles bubble up through her tears and, soon enough, she’s doubled over laughing, hanging onto the wall for support. When she hears Marianne’s laughter join hers she releases all her self doubt and decides, in that beautiful moment, that she has nothing to hold back.

“Marianne,” she says after taking a moment to catch her breath, “You’re so beautiful. Thank you.”

When Hilda leans in to kiss Marianne’s cheek she freezes. Hilda pulls back almost immediately, worried she did something wrong. Marianne’s face is blazing pink, her eyes are wide and starry. Hilda begins to say something and is cut off by Marianne’s hand darting out to take hers again. She smiles.

“I really like you, Marianne,” she says quietly.

“Hilda…”

“I hope this isn’t like, weird or something,” oh great, now she can feel her own face heating up, “Do you wanna, I dunno, date? I’d like that a lot.”

Marianne nods. She still looks utterly starstruck.

“I would really love that,” she barely breathes out.

* * *

“Ugh, Linhardt fell asleep on the couch again,” Annette says with a crinkle in her nose. Felix looks at the couch and, sure enough, Linhardt is spread wide on its cushions, lounging leisurely, completely unconscious and uncaring of his surroundings.

“He did,” Felix confirms. 

“Why doesn’t he just go to his bed?!”

Felix shrugs. Linhardt falling asleep on the couch is one of those constants. Like Hilda spiking the punch. Or Felix leaning against the wall, far away from the party itself.

“Oh, I can’t take this,” Annette stalks off to push Linhardt off the couch and Felix loses his security blanket. He crosses his arms in front of himself and surveys the room.

It’s, well, it’s sure a party. There’s dancing he doesn’t want to do, sweets he doesn’t want to eat, a bowl of punch that’s surely half hard liquor he doesn’t want to drink. Someone’s singing off tune and off tempo. Crumpled balls of gift wrap line the room where they were carelessly kicked out of the way. It’s discordant. It’s irritating. He takes a deep breath and wills his crabassery away; the night isn’t over until he does what he intends to do.

His gift to Sylvain weighs heavy in his pocket. He refuses to question himself. After tonight the decision will be out of his hands; either Sylvain rejects him and he can put what they had to rest, or he accepts and they start fresh. Together.

His fingers wrap around the small parcel. Where  _ is _ that asshole, anyway?

He catches Lysithea’s eye and moves to sit next to her. They sit there in silence, similarly irritated. He catches a glimpse of Sylvain a few minutes later, standing suspiciously close to a spot near the wall Felix had been nonchalantly leaning against. 

Felix watches him. He watches, eyes glued to that stupid dumbass while he floats around the room like a damn butterfly. Everyone he passes gets words and a gift, they get his laughter, and if their reactions are anything to go by they get whatever it was their heart desired.

Everyone, it seems, except himself.

The night drags on. Annette is with Mercedes and Dimitri. Lysithea excuses herself. Felix is forced to confront reality: Sylvain is purposefully avoiding him, and Sylvain got  _ literally everyone else _ a gift for the holiday.

His fist clenches around the gift in his pocket. Stupid. This whole thing was a stupid idea and he’s been pining after someone he  _ knows _ doesn’t think about him. When did he let wishful thinking run his life? How fucking stupid is he?

This was a waste of his fucking time.

He scowls at nothing, stands, and leaves. Leaves the party. Leaves the damn house. Hell, he leaves the block. His feet carry him through the frigid night and his fury keeps him warm until it doesn’t anymore and he feels extremely fucking stupid for storming out of his house in the middle of winter without a jacket, all because his ex boyfriend from  _ years _ ago didn’t get him a gift. Has he always been a brat? He’ll stomp that out, too.

He stops on a small footbridge crossing a creek and leans his head back to watch his breath twist and furl in the cold winter air. He tries to imagine it’s his fury, his selfishness being thrown into the atmosphere and far, far away from his body and his heart. It doesn’t help. He wants to scream but doesn’t want the cops called. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Hey.”

His breath leaves him and he feels like a popped balloon, empty and deflated. He didn’t hear anybody behind him.

_ “What?” _ he snaps.

“You uh, didn’t grab a coat on your way out. Or a scarf. Or a hat.”

He breathes in, and he breathes out. He turns and looks directly at Sylvain, who is properly dressed for the weather and carrying Felix’s proper winter coat, which he hasn’t pulled from storage yet, and his scarf and hat. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He feels overwhelmed.

“Oh,” he says. It must be enough because Sylvain chuckles and holds out his winter gear. He pulls his coat and hat on and wraps the scarf around himself, feeling especially stupid when he doesn’t immedately get warmer. “Thanks.”

And Sylvain smiles. He’s not sure if the warmth he suddenly feels is from anger or relief.

“Is everything okay? You ran out in a hurry, I was worried something happened,” Sylvain presses.

Felix mulls over his response before answering with a half truth. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things tonight, including this.”

“But  _ why, _ though?”

Asshole.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “Where was my coat, anyway? I haven’t pulled it yet.”

Sylvain lets him change the subject. “It was in the same box as mine. I pulled them both out a few weeks ago.”

“Why?”

Sylvain shrugs. “It was there and I thought I’d do it. You can let people do nice things for you, you know.”

Felix bristles at that. “Whatever,” he mutters as he turns around and looks back to the sky. Maybe Sylvain will leave him to be pissed and alone in peace.

Or maybe he won’t.

“We haven’t talked much recently,” Sylvain says gently. He’s not wrong and he doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“...I miss you.”

Felix’s entire body stiffens. Did he hear that right? Or is Sylvain pulling his dumbass lines on him? 

He turns back.

“That’s stupid.”

“Ha, maybe,” Sylvain chuckles weakly, “Hey I, uh, I got you something. I hope that’s not weird.”

He blinks. “Why didn’t you just give it to me at the party?”

“It’s, uh, kind of personal — hold on,” he curses as he digs through his pockets. Felix just stands and watches him check his coat, the inner lining, his hoodie, his jeans, finally finding a small envelope in the pocket he checked in the first place. “Here,” he breathes. Felix takes it.

“...What is it?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Felix can’t help but feel a bit tricked.

“Just open it. Please.”

Felix rolls his eyes; it’s a testament to how stupid he is that he follows direction. Inside the envelope is a folded piece of paper and —

“Tickets?”

“Read the letter first.” Felix can barely hear him. His face is completely unreadable. He sighs and unfolds the paper to see Sylvain’s familiar handwriting.

_ Felix, _

_ I’m writing this down because I don’t trust my dumbass mouth. _

_ I want to try again.  _

_ I never fell out of love with you. You were, and still are, my world. For a long time I thought it would be better to [scribbled out] separate and move on. We weren’t good together. We didn’t know how to talk to each other or how to understand one another. I think that’s changed. _

_ We’ve both changed and grown. For the better, I think. I can appreciate you properly now. _

_ The right, genuine words still don’t come easy. I could get poetic but I know you hate that. I don’t know how to put into words what I’m feeling without resorting to cliches you wouldn’t believe. Please let me show you, instead. _

_ The tickets are for a train ride to Derdriu over spring break. I have a hotel booked near the beach. The quiet part, don’t worry about that. I know it’s a few moons away; we can take the time to really get to know one another again and spend the week relaxing together. _

_ I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with. None of the dates or flings these last few years have compared. Believe me, I compared. _

_ You were made for me. I want to be everything you need.  _

_ Sylvain _

Felix is  _ not _ crying; it’s the condensation from his breath and it just so happened to coat his eyelashes. 

“What, uh, what do you think?” Sylvain asks, a hopeful tilt in his voice.

Felix looks directly at him. The jackass standing in front of him is the same jackass he fought with those years ago, but he’s right; they’ve grown. 

He chooses not to mention he also planned to reconcile tonight.

“Here,” he grumbles, thrusting the small gift in his pocket into Sylvain’s hands. He looks completely bewildered and Felix scowls. “Just open it, idiot.”

Sylvain doesn’t even laugh as he opens his gift, pulling back the paper to reveal a leather-bound pocket journal. He can’t help but feel small compared to the enormity of Sylvain’s confession.

“It’s not as sentimental as yours,” Felix huffs. “Sorry.”

“I love it,” Sylvain whispers. Ah hell, there’s tears in his eyes. There’s tears in both their eyes.

“Good.”

There’s a pause while they look at one another, each searching for something in the other’s face, a sign to move forward or step away. Felix swallows and takes a step forward. Sylvain mirrors his movement, reaching an arm forward to hold Felix at the hip.

And all at once they’re together, their lips slotted together, tasting one another like they never have before. Felix’s hand tangles in Sylvain’s hair and Sylvain’s hand grips Felix at the hip, pulling them together. 

An eternity passes in no time at all and they part, their breath spiraling into the night sky.

“Is that a yes?” Sylvain’s voice is breathy, eager, and scared.

“Yeah,” Felix’s voice is similarly wrecked. Sylvain’s smile is worth it; he feels like he hasn’t seen a smile so bright since, well, since the last time they kissed.

“Let’s go back,” Sylvain says, “It’s cold, and you’re very pink.”

Felix chooses to blame the cold and nods.

Their hands join together and they very quickly realize it’s still fucking cold and Sylvain didn’t grab any gloves, so Sylvain does what any normal person would do and stuffs both their hands together in his coat pocket. They take their time walking home, under the street lamps and the stars, down the familiar streets of their neighborhood, silently enjoying the touch and the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S IT! thank you for joining me on this ride!  
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


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